


Like Smoke

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-23
Updated: 2005-06-22
Packaged: 2018-05-31 05:09:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6457162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn't really a chaptered series, but they go together.  Set post "Origin."  Wesley finds a way to feel safe.  Jewelry!kink!fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1/4

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

He _never_ feels safe anymore. He knows better. It’s not about demons, or apocalypses. It’s not even about Angelus. He’s just not always sure what it _is_ about.

He had bought the cross on a whim. A future present for Fred, maybe. Not some semblance of protection. As if a cross so small and fragile would do anything to a vampire.

The chain was so thin, and glittered so faintly. The thread of a chain seemed like it should undermine the power of such a symbol, but he felt like it made it just that much more obvious. It would take more than breaking a flimsy chain to destroy the meaning it held. Years of ancient prophecies and bloody battles would not be erased just because its harness was conquered. The symbolism would still exist. As would the power. It could be annihilated but not forgotten.

Much like Wes’s own history thus far. The memories still fluttered through his vision at odds moments through the day, but he tried not to give them much notice these days. It wasn’t as if he could really claim them. They didn’t belong to him anymore. Angel had taken them once, he could just as easily take them away again. He would never know. He could have more false memories already. The past was just as uncertain as the future for him.

The cross. That was certain. It could inflict pain and suffering as easily as Angelus had. As easily as Wolfram and Hart still did. It was, in their field of expertise, a weapon, and more importantly, a marker.

So when he was straddling Angel, Angel stretching him, pumping inside of him, hands gripping his hips hard enough to leave bruises, and asking him if this was okay, Wes merely leaned forward to suck Angel’s tongue out of his mouth and indulged in the feel of his cross dragging a trail of memories across Angel’s chest. It inevitably made Angel start and then buck his hips, forcing Wes to feel exactly when and where he was. And when he fell asleep lying across Angel, the mark he could see the next day gave him some small sense of security. A sense that maybe he had found his place again. That he could be safe. That even though his chain was broken, there was still something to be salvaged.

Leaving his mark on Angel made him feel safer. Like there was something that truly belonged to him. Something that could not be erased. It gave him the possibility of safe at some point in the future. A point that actually existed. It seemed like that should be enough - but it wasn’t. The cross was only a start. Burns heal, but scars linger.


	2. Markers 2/4

_We’ve got to hold on, ready or not..._

He fingered the cross as he stood in the doorway of the mansion. It was time, but he held out a few more moments. If he smelled it long enough he could imagine it still smelled of Angel’s burnt flesh.

\- - -

Last night while Angel was still inside him, his body slick with sweat, he had huddled closer to Angel’s chest, wanting to leave some lasting impression behind to mark this night. Tired, eyes filled with sleep and loss, he had lain against him and let the cross smoke against Angel’s skin. After dozing off and then waking to the hiss of the burn, Wesley still couldn’t bring himself to move away. He knew how much pain it must be causing Angel, but after everything he didn’t think it was too much to ask for the vampire to endure a little physical pain for his sake. Finally, when he thought the mark might last, he gave him his own necklace of crosses. Angel had watched him, eyes dark, rimmed with water, but not stopping him, not pushing him away.

He stopped after placing the last few at Angel’s neck. They would easily be healed in the morning, but the center pendant would last a little longer, he hoped. His eyes locked with Angel’s and gave him a short, hungry kiss.

“Mark me.”

He watched Angel’s face turn and the fangs lengthen, but Wes shook his head. He loved having Angel bite him, in fact there were nights when he wished Angel would bite him every night. There were also nights when he wished Angel would never stop biting him. But that wasn’t what he needed tonight. Angel’s teeth would only serve to show how different they were, how Wesley could never bite Angel, and even if he did, the wounds would heal too quickly to notice they were ever there. No, he wanted their scars to be the same for once. Wesley gave a look down at the cross hanging between them and the ones on Angel’s chest, then he guided Angel’s hands to the back of his neck. Angel pulled him down further for another sharp, slow kiss and then removed the necklace.

He watched as Angel held it above the candles along the bed, the metal mottling, but keeping its shape.

“Here?” 

But obviously Angel knew the answer before he asked it, because his hand went straight for Wesley’s chest, pressing it hard and fast into the skin where it usually hung. Wes gasped, the metal searing into his chest and into Angel’s hand, but he held still, letting himself feel Angel’s palm pressing against his chest rather than the pain of the brand.

Once Angel’s hand had moved away, Angel leaned up to lick slowly across the wound, soothing it with the coolness of his mouth. Wesley shifted his hips and started to rock back and forth, feeling Angel start to harden inside him. He trailed fingers up Angel’s chest, teasing his nipples and brushing over the burns on his chest. He felt Angel’s hand slide down to his waist as the pace got more frantic for both of them. Wesley kept his eyes on Angel’s chest the entire time, breaking away only once to be snared by Angel’s gaze as he came and then to watch Angel’s face when Angel came several thrusts later.

The next morning there were still traces of the necklace, along Angel’s chest and collarbone, but most of it was covered, save for where the collar of his shirt was unbuttoned. He could have hidden it, buttoned up the last button, but he didn’t. He let everyone see that he had _allowed_ himself to be marked. Those weren’t the kinds of burns one got by accident or in the heat of a fight. His own shirt only allowed the chain to be seen for the most part. He didn’t need everyone to see his own mark. It was for him, for his cross to scrape across, for his hands to linger over. It was his sole connection to this world.

\- - -

Taking a long, deep breath to fortify himself for the fight ahead, he let loose of the cross, and then rubbed it into the wound of the same size and shape that marked his chest. The pain reminded him of who wore his mark, and what to look for if either of them made it out of this alive. He only hoped that it lasted long enough for him to find it again.

_You live for the fight when that’s all that you’ve got._


	3. 3/4

When Illyria told them, he heard it, but he knew it wasn’t true. He felt his hand move toward the mark - Wesley’s mark - but he didn’t let his hand go any further. He had to keep everyone together. He would find Wes when this was over. He couldn’t be dead. The mark was still there. 

He knelt next to Wesley.

“You’re not gone.”

He pulled both of their hands to his chest, rubbing the back of Wes’s hand across the mark. “Still here.”

He felt the tears trail down his cheeks. 

“It didn’t fade. It’s still here. You can’t be gone. It’s still here.”


	4. 4/4

Angel felt the rain sliding down his skin as he ran to the alley they’d be meeting at. A trail of water ran over the almost healed cross on his chest, reminding him that Wesley was still out there. Alone.

_I have to go, I have to find him. The others can wait._ His feet pounded against the water and sludge splashed up his pant legs as he ran to Vail’s. He had to make sure Wesley was alright, that he would see his mark, still there, faint against his chest. 

Inside he saw Vail move and he lunged.

\- - -

“You didn’t think I could handle him, did you?”

“No, just didn’t want to wait and see. Had more pressing matters on my agenda.”

“Such as?”

“This.” Angel tugged the buttons of Wes’s shirt aside and brushed his thumb lightly across the wound on his chest, then took Wes’s hand and guided it to the opening of his own shirt. He watched as Wes peeled back the layer of ragged shirt, and sucked in a short, barely noticeable breath. He kept watching while Wes traced the mark over and over with his finger, the heat of his palm soaking into Angel’s chest.

“It’s still there...” Wes trailed off with awe in his voice as he slowly looked up into Angel’s face.

“Wasn’t going to watch both of you fade away.” Angel closed the gap between them and kissed Wes, leaving Wes’s hand between them to feel both crosses against his hand. Wes slipped his hand away and allowed the two marks to align. Two crosses, each mirroring the one across from it. Angel hoped Wesley would believe that the marks couldn’t fade away now, no matter how smooth and unmarred Angel's skin became.


End file.
